At Cowichan Bay,
On a hot day,
Thankfully,
I sit in the shade on an old wharf..
Two Jamaicans are playing thumb harps, singing.
Leslie is sketching.
Some friends are having a picnic,
The potter nearby is busy in her
Little shop,
Sun is beating down on the sailboats,
Weathered wood,
Driftwood riff-raff and rope.
People stroll among the waterfront galleries,
Conversations in low voices,
Men, with the sounds of tools
Cutting and sanding wood,
Work on their boats.
Sea is more blue
Than the quiet sky.
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